Winding Up God

Looking back, that raucous 1970s rock tune had it all wrong.

Riding on a public bus often catapults me into the past. My ears perked up, recently, when I heard the radio start playing music from the raucous rock band of the 70s, Jethro Tull:

You can ex-communicate me on my way to Sunday School
and have all the bishops harmonize these lines...
I don't believe you, you got the whole damn thing all wrong
He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sunday.

I don't want to date myself, but these lines brought me back to my rebellious high school days as a post Bar Mitzvah teenager in Southern California, who couldn't find a more perfect expression of his disdain of organized religion than the second side of Aqualung.

Although the local congregation we attended generally made do with "winding God up" once or twice a year on the High Holidays, Jethro Tull's message remained the same. And since our family was of the Temple faithful who attended services virtually every week, Friday night seemed to me as legitimate an object of resentment as Sunday did to Jethro Tull.

Doing for God?

The source of this resentment is a basic misconception. We tend to think we're doing God a big favor when we go to services or the like. Nothing could be further from the truth.

The Sages made this point in a startling way. Imagine you're fasting on Yom Kippur, spending the entire day in the synagogue, doing teshuva -- repentance -- for everything you can think of. The congregation reaches Neilah -- the concluding service, the holiest prayer of all, recited only once a year on Yom Kippur afternoon, at the end of a day we've been acting like angels. We're all thinking: "I'm fasting, I'm praying. Look how much I'm doing for God!"

The mitzvot are opportunities to achieve greatness.

Here the Sages make a statement that appears nowhere else in the liturgy, based on a verse in the Book of Job (35:7): "Even though man be righteous, what can he give You?" God is complete, perfect. Nothing we do will benefit Him. The mitzvot? These are opportunities that God, in His love for us, gave us to achieve true greatness. We are not doing God a favor, rather God is giving us the opportunity of a lifetime.

What more apropos place to make this point than at the end of Yom Kippur, when we're sorely tempted to feel holy?

Reflexive Prayer

For some people, communal prayer presents a strong obstacle. How can prayer be meaningful if everyone has to recite the exact same words? How can the prayers be fixed at certain times? Are we supposed to open up our hearts to God like clockwork?

In other words, does God need us to "wind Him up"?

Perhaps a misunderstanding arises from the Hebrew word tefilla, inadequately translated as "prayer." The verb l'hitpalel -- "to pray" -- is a reflexive verb, meaning that it is something done to oneself. Obviously, this does not mean that we pray to ourselves. So in what respect is Jewish prayer reflexive?

Jewish prayer is an act of introspection.

Prayer is reflexive because it brings us face to face with the great harmony at the core of our existence. The root "pallel" means to inspect. The reflexive form, therefore, is an act of personal introspection. When we pray, we look inside and ask, "What do I need to change about myself in order to get what I really want out of life?"

Jewish prayer is nourishment for the soul, and we need it three times a day, like clockwork.

I keep a 70-year-old gold watch, which belonged to my grandfather, next to my state-of-the-art laptop, to remind myself of a lot of things: Where I came from, the benefits I enjoy from the incredible progress of technology, and the amazing craftsmanship of yesteryear (the watch works pretty well, will my laptop work even five years from now?) I enjoy winding up the watch. It reminds me that valuable things need constant attention.

Maybe, if it was carefully explained, even Jethro Tull could understand that we're not "winding God up," but rather we're the ones who need to be "wound up." And maybe, if it were explained carefully, that rebellious teenager would have understood, too.

The opinions expressed in the comment section are the personal views of the commenters. Comments are moderated, so please keep it civil.

Visitor Comments: 6

(6)
Daniela,
February 27, 2006 12:00 AM

I think we may need another article...

It seems from the comments so far, and even from the fact that the article might be a little incomplete in explaining why we need *set* prayers, not just prayer in general, that we need another article explaining comprehensively yet simply why it is that we need set t'filot with set times to begin with, why it is that praying on one's own and with one's own words is not sufficient in order to get the effect we need to as Jews in order to fully communicate with HaShem and get as much out of it as we're supposed to. It seems a lot of people also still have a problem separating personal behavior toward others with the mere fact of someone praying every day in the prescribed manner. I would point anyone questioning the validity of praying according to prescribed, set prayers to the Ask the Rabbi page of this site, but I think a full, comprehensive article on the subject is in order. If one was previously shown before, we need it to be featured again.

(5)
bruce ritchie,
February 27, 2006 12:00 AM

Dear Rabbi David,
I like your article about "winding up God". I must disagree with your assessment of Jethro Tull (Ian Anderson's band) and the song, however. In the same tune he also says,"before I'm through, I'd like to say my prayers." It is clear to me that Anderson was talking about the many failings of humans engaged in religion, and not about any problems coming from God's side of things. Part of the discreptency could also be that you do not have a strong connection to the religious experiences that Ian Anderson most probably has gone thru. I, for my part, cannot think of an album closer to God than Aqualung, since it is written from the viewpoint of a down and out street person who's breathing is so laboured that it sounds like scuba gear. The album is all about compassion.

(4)
Rachel,
February 26, 2006 12:00 AM

Even tefilla can be 'winding up'

No matter how much ruach hakodesh (a minor level of prophecy) went into the composition of our prayers, the prayers in the Siddur can indeed become very monotonous and can feel like one is 'winding up' G-d. Having a chart which tells you by which time you have to have said Shema can contribute to that feeling. So can having other things on your mind, such as your business affairs or gettting to that meeting on time. I've seen plenty of people leave davening and still not treat others very nicely. On a recent trip to Israel, in the heart of the Old City, the rapture I felt in being able to daven to G-d in the heart of Yerushalayim was shattered by another woman who sat a few feet away from me and davened in a monotone loudly enough to ruin my concentration. Her voice conveyed less emotion than a recitation of all the names in the phone book. And she was an obviously religious woman, too.

I don't see much connection between the physical act of davening, regardless of how often, and the introspection of teshuva and self improvement. If a person is open to making improvements to his character, then the praying will accomplish something, otherwise, it can be an empty exercise. In fact, reciting set prayers might impede a person from doing the cheshbon ha-nefesh, the self appraisal that we all should do, because of the time involved in the praying. That doesn't mean that we should not connect to Hashem every day. It only means that tefilla is not sufficient to make the connection - we really need to take a good, hard look at ourselves and try to understand how we seem to others, and try to be the kind of people that G-d wants us to be.

(3)
Will Duquette,
February 26, 2006 12:00 AM

Faith is a daily thing

I've always understood the song rather differently: that a faith that has to be artificially "wound up" on Sundays isn't much of a faith. Ian Anderson's alternative may have been no faith at all; me, I'm with Rabbi Schallheim that true faith continues through the day, every day. In short, I question his criticism, not his conclusions.

(2)
L. Kanterman,
February 26, 2006 12:00 AM

The point of "wind up"

I think you missed the point of "wind up". Ian Anderson's point, I believe, is that a person's connection to the divine is NOT contingent on organized religion. "He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays" means, to me, that you can find a connection to G-d through life experiences, not just through prayer and worship.

(1)
Joey,
February 26, 2006 12:00 AM

About prayer or something more basic?

What Tull was talking about is the (a) isolation of the relationship to G-d to when in Church (while man may do whatever he chooses in the 'outside' world) and (b) to a rigid system of worship controlled and structured by man, not G-d. In effect, he was against having a dual life (infidelity) and a human conceived form of worship (the exact definition of ‘Avoda Zara’). Certainly these critics still ring true about other religions, but not Judaism.

This year during Chanukah I will be on a wilderness survival trip, and it will be very difficult to properly celebrate the holiday. I certainty won't be able to bring along a Menorah.

So if I am going to celebrate only one day of Chanukah, which is the most significant?

The Aish Rabbi Replies:

If a person can only celebrate one day of Chanukah, he should celebrate the first day.

This is similar to a case where a person is in prison, and the authorities agree to permit him to go to synagogue one day. The law is that he should go at the first opportunity, and not wait for a more important day like the High Holidays.

The reason is because one should not allow the opportunity of a mitzvah to pass. Moreover, it is quite conceivable that circumstances will later change and allow for additional observance. Therefore, we do not let the first chance pass. (Sources: Code of Jewish Law OC 90, Mishnah Berurah 28.)

As an important aside, Chanukah candles must be lit in (or at the entrance to) a home rather than out of doors. Thus, you should not light in actual "wilderness," but only after you've pitched your tent for the night.

There may be another reason why the first night is the one to focus on. Chanukah is celebrated for eight days to commemorate the one-day supply of oil that miraculously burned for eight days. But if you think about it, since there was enough oil to burn naturally for one night, nothing miraculous happened on that first night! So why shouldn't Chanukah be just seven days?!

There are many wonderful answers given to this question, highlighting the special aspect of the first day. Here are a few:

1) True, the miracle of the oil did not begin until the second day, and lasted for only seven days. But the Sages designated the first day of Chanukah in commemoration of the miraculous military victory.

2) Having returned to the Temple and found it in shambles, the Jews had no logical reason to think they would find any pure oil. The fact that the Maccabees didn't give up hope, and then actually found any pure oil at all, is in itself a miracle.

3) The Sages chose Chanukah, a festival that revolves around oil's ability to burn, as the time to teach the fundamental truth that even so-called "natural" events take place only because God wants them to.

The Talmudic Sage Rabbi Chanina Ben Dosa expressed this truth in explaining a miracle that occurred in his own home. Once, his daughter realized that she had lit the Shabbos candles with vinegar instead of oil. Rabbi Chanina calmed her, saying, "Why are you concerned! The One Who commanded oil to burn, can also command vinegar to burn!" The Talmud goes on to say that those Shabbos lights burned bright for many hours (Taanit 25a).

To drive this truth home, the Sages decreed that Chanukah be observed for eight days: The last seven to commemorate the miracle of the Menorah, and the first to remind us that even the “normal” burning of oil is only in obedience to God's wish.

In closing, I'm not sure what's stopping you from celebrating more than one day? At a minimum, you can light one candle sometime during the evening, and that fulfills the mitzvah of Chanukah - no “official Menorah” necessary. With so much joy to be had, why limit yourself to one night only?!

In 165 BCE, the Maccabees defeated the Greek army and rededicated the Holy Temple in Jerusalem. Finding only one jar of pure oil, they lit the Menorah, which miraculously burned for eight days. Also on this day -- 1,100 years earlier -- Moses and the Jewish people completed construction of the Tabernacle, the portable sanctuary that accompanied them during 40 years of wandering in the desert. The Tabernacle was not dedicated, however, for another three months; tradition says that the day of Kislev 25 was then "compensated" centuries later -- when the miracle of Chanukah occurred and the Temple was rededicated. Today, Jews around the world light a Chanukah menorah, to commemorate the miracle of the oil, and its message that continues to illuminate our lives today.

A person who utilizes suffering to arouse himself in spiritual matters will find consolation. He will recognize that even though the suffering was difficult for him, it nevertheless helped him for eternity.

When you see yourself growing spiritually through your suffering, you will even be able to feel joy because of that suffering.

They established these eight days of Chanukah to give thanks and praise to Your great Name(Siddur).

Jewish history is replete with miracles that transcend the miracle of the Menorah. Why is the latter so prominently celebrated while the others are relegated to relative obscurity?

Perhaps the reason is that most other miracles were Divinely initiated; i.e. God intervened to suspend the laws of nature in order to save His people from calamity.

The miracle of the Menorah was something different. Having defeated the Seleucid Greek invaders, the triumphant Jews entered the Sanctuary. There they found that they could light the Menorah for only one day, due to a lack of undefiled oil. Further, they had no chance of replenishing the supply for eight days. They did light the Menorah anyway, reasoning that it was best to do what was within their ability to do and to postpone worrying about the next day until such worry was appropriate. This decision elicited a Divine response and the Menorah stayed lit for that day and for seven more.

This miracle was thus initiated by the Jews themselves, and the incident was set down as a teaching for all future generations: concentrate your efforts on what you can do, and do it! Leave the rest to God.

While even our best and most sincere efforts do not necessarily bring about miracles, the teaching is nevertheless valid. Even the likelihood of failure in the future should not discourage us from any constructive action that we can take now.

Today I shall...

focus my attention on what it is that I can do now, and do it to the best of my ability.

With stories and insights,
Rabbi Twerski's new book Twerski on Machzor makes Rosh Hashanah prayers more meaningful. Click here to order...